


Cold World

by verry (tokitovo)



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Underage Rape/Non-con, like holds him down and makes him cry type shit, like uh miles is rlly smol and vulnerable and prowler fucks the shit out of him, literally what it says in the tin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 11:34:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17527970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tokitovo/pseuds/verry
Summary: Miles gets caught visiting a dead man for advice.Prowler doesn't go easy on him. Even kids have to learn that their actions have consequences.





	Cold World

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhH!!!  
> okay warnings: HARD non-con, forced pleasure, secret identities  
> based off this [LOVELY PICTURE](https://twitter.com/artsertive/status/1087283575672721408?s=20) by artsertive  
> warnings for a little blood and noncon if you choose to click that link!  
> i also inserted the pic mid fic where i feel it fits the best uwu  
> thank youd darling, for letting me write up the context for this beautiful piece of artwork!

Miles has never really had a lot of responsibility. Or at least, he used to think he did and then he quickly realized that he didn’t even have the vaguest idea what responsibility even meant. Not until a spider bit him and he realized that villain’s weren’t just in comics. They weren’t just the butt of hero jokes and they weren’t as harmless as all of Spiderman’s posturing made them seem.

They were real and they were vicious and they were _deadly_.

Miles has seen a dead body here and there. Mostly on television. Once on the side of the road, a stray homeless man either overdosed or frozen to death. It hadn’t shocked him terribly. Had only instilled a strange soft of numbness in him. He doesn’t remember what happened after his dad and mom had leapt into action.

A flurry of paramedics and lights and the body had been taken away in a bag on a stretcher.

It comes back to him as he stares down at the grave, candles flickering in the wind. A few of them have gone out, blackened and dead like the man they lay atop of.

Miles doesn’t know how to feel, really. He feels sick and guilty. Feels like he should have done something, anything. Feels like maybe if he hadn’t been there, none of this would have happened. Maybe his very presence had tipped the scales.

It’s a hard concept to think about. To know that he might have been the reason that a man lay dead beneath his feet. That the blame for the death of an icon, a _hero,_ might rest at his doorstep.

It makes him feel...

Well, it makes him want to turn back time and wish he’d never gone hunting for answers. Makes him wish he wasn’t so useless, or that none of this had ever happened to him.

He doesn’t know how to fix this. Doesn’t know what to do to make this right. He doesn’t know what he _can_ do. He may have some power, but he’s still weak and untrained. Still doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now, where he’s supposed to go with this.

He shouldn’t even be out here right now, underdressed in a tacky little children’s Halloween costume as snow falls around him. He realizes rather suddenly that he’s _freezing_ , ankles and wrists exposed as his threadbare t-shirt under the suit does little good to ward off the serious chill. This is stupid. He shouldn’t be out here like this anyway. What could he possibly hope to gain from talking to a dead man’s gravestone?

He’s so caught up in his thoughts, that when he feels that tingly little frequency in his head, it takes a moment to register what it is and what it _means_.

He spins around a second too late, a body colliding viciously with his own and knocking him down into the gravestone. Candles snuff out, and Miles hears the tell-tale crunch of glass breaking, the amount of noise the ruined memorial makes almost shocking in the dead of the night.

What’s even more shocking is the _sound_. Miles recognizes that noise. Could pick it out in his sleep. It sounds like a distorted animal crying, electric and frightening. It’s grating and loud and fills him with such intense, immediate fear that his whole body seizes up, muscles going tight with terror as his fight or flight fizzles out into _freeze_.

“Knew I’d find you here,” His assailant says, and it’s the warbled human speech that finally propels Miles into action. He begins struggling, but he’s already lost too much time and maneuverability.

A fist descends lightning quick, the crack of knuckles against his cheek echoing in the muted air of the graveyard. Miles cries out, can’t help it, hurt noise bursting free even as he struggles to keep his emotions in check. 

“Predictable.” Prowler growls.

“Get off me!” Miles yells, only to have a forceful hand descend on his windpipe and choke the words right out of him.

Prowler leans up, eyes of his suit narrowed into tiny slits.

_No no no no no no no_

It’s all he can think, brain going into panicked overdrive as he struggles against the grip around his throat. Those claws squeeze menacingly, and he stills just long enough to watch Prowler unbuckle his pants, surprisingly adept at the action despite his steel-tipped fingers.

“Please don’t.” Miles whispers, horror dawning fast. He may be young, but he’s not stupid. He knows what’s about to happen. He’s watched enough Law and Order SVU to know exactly what a situation like this means for him. “Please, _please_ , M’just a kid.” He wheezes out.

He gets a cruel laugh in return, and Miles feels true terror sink like a stone in his gut.

“This’ll teach you not to play at being an adult, then.” The stranger says, tugging his pants down to reveal a threateningly large cock. He’s already half hard, and Miles wonders what kind of horrible person gets turned on holding a kid down and threatening to fuck them. Probably the same kind of person who’s a mercenary for hire. The same kind of person who’d work for Kingpin and the same kind of person who’d hunt down a kid and kill them over nothing more than an order and a bit of cash.

“This isn’t _right_ ,” Miles begs, trying to snap his legs together and kick out all at once. Prowler just gets a hand around his calf, claws digging in painfully and forcing him open – exposed. Miles feels the tears prickle at his eyes, hissing loudly as he feels his skin tear.

“You think I give a shit about right and wrong, kid?” Prowler says, undoing the grip on his neck long enough to knead at his ass. Miles brings his hands up, tries to push at the man’s chest, but he stills once more when those same claws dig into the meat of his ass, hooking and clawing at the suit.

Miles hears the distinct sound of fabric tearing. He knows Prowler could be more careful, spare him the bloody scratches on his rear, but the man seems bent on _hurting_ him. Miles shivers when he’s exposed, crisp breeze kissing his heated, torn skin and sending prickles of sensation all the way to the tips of his fingers.

“P – _Please_.” Miles hiccups, tears finally breaking free and sliding down his temples. He’s scared. He’s so scared he’s starting to panic, breath coming in short, erratic puffs and heart feeling like it’s being squeezed out of his chest. Prowler doesn’t seem to care, just bends him practically in half and grips the ground next to him. His arms are stuck against his chest, stuck where he’d tried, and failed, to push the larger man off him.

“You keep yourself quiet or I’ll rip out your tongue. Got it?” Prowler hisses, all promise. Miles flinches, a garbled little noise pushing out of him before he manages to wiggle one of his trapped hands up high enough to seal over his mouth.

He jolts when he feels something blunt and hot press against his entrance.

It’s happening. It’s really happening.

Prowler lingers there for a moment, sliding the tip of his cock against Miles’ twitching little hole almost teasingly before finally pressing in, steady and sure.

Nothing in Miles’ life could have prepared him for this level of pain. The gashes on his ass and his legs are _nothing_ in comparison to the slow, painful slide of Prowler forcing his cock into him. Miles wants to scream, mouth opening around the noise until he remembers Prowler’s warning. Almost immediately, his own hand tightens against his mouth, muffling his noises into the meat of his palm as he feels the man sink deeper.

It feels like he’s being torn in half, split open from the inside. It burns like nothing else ever has. Miles doesn’t think he’s ever known pain quite like this, and hopes he never will again. A big, obtrusive part of him wants to curl up and _die_.

This is worse than getting his shit kicked. This is worse than getting torn apart and left for a dead in a ditch. This is so much more horrifying than anything his subconscious could have dredged up for him.

This is going to hurt him in more ways than just physical. This is going to strip from him his pride, his self-love and his value. Miles can’t think of a worse punishment.

He’s granted no time to think, no pause to gather himself, Prowler just pulls out in one long thrust and dives back into him. His head bumps back up against the gravestone, knocking painfully into it every time Prowler thrusts into him.

Miles can’t do much from where he’s folded in on himself, just takes a moment to thank his natural flexibility. One of the man’s large hands slinks behind his head, curling him up more and forcing Miles closer, effectively trapping him in a helpless position as Prowler begins his assault in earnest.

Miles is making noises, small pitiful sounds that don’t feel like they belong to him. Everything hurts, everything _burns_ , and he sobs into his hand as he listens to the grate of claws on the ground next to his face.

He knows that if he struggles, the identical claws resting innocuously against his temple will dig in in a heartbeat.

Dead, or violated. Miles isn’t sure which one is better, at this point.

“Fuck, you’re tight.” Prowler says suddenly, raising up on his knees just a little bit to change his angle. Miles doesn’t know what to say to that. Want’s to scream, “ _I’m a kid,_ ” and “ _I’m a virgin,_ ” but Prowler already knows both these things.

He’s spared from having to say anything though when suddenly, he feels a bright spark of electricity shoot all the way up his spine and then back down, straight into his dick.

Miles groans, this time slightly less pained, but infinitely more fearful.

This can’t be happening.

He can’t – he can’t be getting _hard_.

He starts struggling against automatically, but he’s so small and Prowler is so big on top of him, full weight of a grown man pinning Miles to the spot.

Miles feet pinwheel in the air, desperately trying to find purchase on something, anything. But Prowler’s thrusts are hard and unforgiving. There’s no time and not nearly enough room for him to situate himself. He can feel the slide in him grow smoother, less catch, more slick.

He wonders if he’s bleeding. There’s already blood oozing sluggishly from the wound on his leg, and most likely his ass. But then again, everything below the waist feels faintly like it’s on fire, and Miles is having a very difficult time differentiating between what hurts and what is starting to feel horrifyingly good.

 _Please, please_.

He doesn’t know what he’s begging for, silent words swirling in his head as he feels his cock start to perk up and take interest in the brutal thrusts. Miles has never felt anything quite like this. The pain is blending with pleasure and it feels a whole lot like his body is melting.

“ _Nngh_.” This sound isn’t like any of his others. It’s low and almost needy. He’s starting to want something, and Miles isn’t ready to admit to himself what.

“Yeah?” Prowler growls, static singing in Miles’ ear. “You like it rough?”

Miles groans, low and perverse, doesn’t want to know the answer to that question in himself.

Prowler’s thrusts only get harder and faster. Miles feels like he’s overheating. His back is numb, exposed as it is to the packed, dirty snow, but the man on top of him radiates more than enough heat to make up for it. Everything is sweaty and hazy. Miles thoughts are quickly being reduced to fitful little pleas for this to be over.

For it not to stop.

Miles feels something building inside of him, something thick and heavy right at the base of his spine. It throws his body into disarray, every muscle in him twitching and jerking as Prowler’s thrusts grow more erratic.

Miles digs his fingers into his cheek, unable to do little more as he feels himself tense, dick slapping against his torso as his body winds up and then tips gloriously over the edge.

He comes against his forearm, where it’s smashed in between them and bent at an uncomfortable angle. The pleasure is overwhelming to the point of being painful, and Miles practically screams into his hand, entire body going bow-tight with tension.

He clenches tight around the cock buried deep inside him, and Prowler lets out a snarl before his hips snap forward once, twice, and he’s forcing himself as far in as he can go.

The feeling of cum filling him is never one Miles’ had bothered trying to envision, but anything he could have thought up would have never come this close to what reality feels like. It’s like Prowler is pumping him full all the way up to his belly. Like he’ll never be able to get far enough into himself to clean it all out.

He feels marked and owned, more than even the gashes make him feel. Prowler is _inside_ him. Filling him up with his cum, making sure Miles has to carry this with him until his body figures out how to expel it.

Prowler thrusts into him shallowly one last time before pulling out. The pain rushes in all at once, endorphins from his climax fading quick.

“Look at you,” Prowler says, voice low and almost mocking. “You _came_.” He pauses to laugh, tapping his claws absently against the side of Mile’s head as the cold starts to rush in. “At least you got something nice to send you off.”

He can’t believe this is it. This is how he’s going to die. A pathetic, teary little mess, exposed and frightened with a grown man’s cum dribbling out of his ass. This is how the cops will find him. This is how his _dad_ might find him.

Miles doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, only that if he’s about to die here, he wants to at least know the face of the man who’s going to kill him.

His hand darts forward, quicker than Prowler can snatch at his wrist, and he’s grabbing the edge of the man’s mask, yanking up for all he’s worth and revealing –

Oh.

Oh my god.

 _No_.

_No no no no._

“Un – Uncle Aaron?” Miles whispers, words catching in his throat as he lets out a tiny little sob.

His brain screeches to a halt, unable to tie together the image of Prowler, the assassin for hire, the man who’d just _raped_ him, with his Uncle Aaron, the man who comforts him in his time of need. The man who listens to him when it feels like nobody else cares.

Miles gapes, and he watches as Aaron’s face goes from confused to shocked to absolutely horrified.

“ _Miles_?” A claw hooks under his mask. Miles doesn’t have the energy to twist his face away. The material peeling away from his face feels like the biggest reveal of his life.

“Jesus Christ.” It’s just two little words, but Miles hears the guilt and horror in them loud and clear. Aaron staggers up onto his feet, taking an abortive step back as his head shakes back and forth minutely.

Miles sees it then, that same fight or flight that he has reflected back at him. But Aaron won’t fight him now, and Miles knows he can’t let his uncle run. He needs him now, more than ever.

He musters up the last of his energy, dropping the mask and reaching out to tangle his fingers into the hem of Aaron’s shirt. The movement shifts him around a little, and he a loud cry of pain dislodges itself from his chest.

“Uncle Aaron _p – please_ don’t leave me here,” Miles begs, beginning to cry again in earnest. “I – I can’t _move_.” He whispers, tears leaking freely down as face as he shudders.

“ _Fuck_.” The swear startles Miles, and he flinches back from the force of it. Aaron darts his gaze down to look at him conflict warring with horror and looking very much like he’s about to blot.

He doesn’t know what keeps his uncle there. Whether it’s his tears, or his begging, or even the weak grip he has on his shirt. But thankfully, Aaron just kneels down again, gently scooping Miles into his arms as the damn bursts.

“Oh, _Miles_...” He murmurs, like he can’t believe it – any of it.

“M’sorry, m’sorry.” Miles wails, hiccupping loudly and pressing his face into Aaron’s neck. He smells familiar, like spice and wood, and Miles doesn’t know how he hadn’t noticed that earlier. The position moves him enough that he feels something hot and wet gush out of him, trickling down his crack and stinging the small cuts he must have almost everywhere.

“Miles, baby, _shhh_.” Arron’s voice is quiet and soothing. A stark difference from the distorted audio his mask outputs. “ _I’m_ sorry. I shouldn’t have – _fuck_ , what the _fuck_ were you – how was I supposed to _know_?”

Miles just clings to him tighter. “You didn’t know, Uncle Aaron. Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad at _you_ , Miles.”

“Don’t be mad at yourself either. I just. I just wanna go home.”

“I shouldn’t even be _touching_ you right now.” He sounds like he’s talking more to himself than anything. Miles just grips him tighter – the very thought that Aaron might put him down right now making him whimper.

“It’s okay, Uncle Aaron. It’s okay.”

“Miles it’s _not_ okay.” Aaron snarls, and Miles hates the fearful noise that spills from him.

“I – I know. But I k – kind of need you right now.”

Aaron makes a sound that has Miles feeling a little like his heart is being torn in two, but Aaron falls silent, burying his face in Miles’ hair as he walks them out of the graveyard.

Miles tries not to think about what just happened. About the fact that he has his uncles cum dripping out of his asshole. About the fact that he can’t really feel most of his body aside from a deep, dull ache.

He focuses on the crunch of snow under Aaron’s foot. The loud hum of the city around them. People everywhere are going about their lives, no one the wiser that there are two Spidermen laying in that grave now.

**Author's Note:**

> /sweats  
> imagine aaron takes him home and makes him a cup of hot chocolate and lets miles sleep in his bed bc he can't stop crying and they fall asleep tangled up together while aaron feels like the sleaziest person alive


End file.
